Nostalgia
by Kirishimama
Summary: Lance finds that the journey in saving a universe that wasn't his, is not one he can do alone. But he tries anyways... because he's Lance Mc-frickin'-Clain, and he'll thread that god damn needle regardless of what universe he's in. (A/N: looking for some Shance? You've come to the right neighbourhood. Also major langst.)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Look who decided to post a new fic instead of updating their other ones!  
**

 **Anyways. I've had this idea for a while now and am only just writing it lmao.**

 **Also, my laptop is completely fucked so I have to write on my phone so sorry if there's any mistakes!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Nostalgia_

 _[nɒˈstaldʒə / **noun** / A sentimental longing or wistful affection for a period in the past.]_

* * *

There was just so much blood. _Why was there so much blood?_

His hands shook as the red, red, _red_ liquid trailed towards his knees, and slowly pooled around him.

It wasn't- nothing was supposed to _be_ like this. Nobody was supposed to _die_.

They were supposed to defeat Zarkon and _save the god damn Universe._ And then they would go home; a little scarred, worse for wear, but alive they would be.

" _Lance_." Their voice is hoarse, whispered and tired as they lay a battered, sparking and twitching arm- _their only remaining one_ \- onto his knee.

"Get to Black."

And he would've listened, back when everyone was alive, and he hung onto his every word, because he was their _leader_. But with everyone gone and their ship, their castle; their _home_ lit up in a blazing fire that just wouldn't stop; he couldn't find it in himself to care.

"Lance, _snap out of it_!"

A shuddering cry wracked his body, and he raised a bloodstained hand to his face.

"We failed, Shiro," he whispered, hiding behind his hand as he grit his teeth and just let go. "We _failed_ , and I-"

"D-Do you remember Beta Traz?"

It wasn't the words that made him pause in being pathetic and weak enough to _cry_ ; but the soft, resigned, almost nostalgic tone it was said with that made him remove his hand from his face.

"Yeah," he sniffed, watery eyes red and sore as they stared down at his lover. "Yeah, I do. It's where we rescued... Slav, right?"

Shiro let out a breathless laugh at his skeptical tone, and shifted his eyes open to stare into the very same blue eyes he fell in love with, just as endless and enchanting as he remembered them to be.

"Well-!" A cough clawed at his throat, and he felt his stomach clench in pain as a metallic liquid filled his mouth.

"S- _Shiro_!" Lance panicked, hands flailing around with wide eyes as he busied over trying to fix what was wrong. "I-"

He tilted his head away from Lance and spat the liquid out. "I'm ok." Shiro breathed, chest shaking from the aftershock. "Do you remember what Slav went on and on about?"

Lance nodded. "Alternate universes-"

"What's this? More than one of you are still alive?"

An angry, _vicious_ snarl that _sounded nothing like him_ , had already left his lips by the time he stood up and readied his sparking bayard.

"I'll have to rectify that." They mused, dusting off their pants and looking at the two of them down the bridge of their nose. "Father would be most displeased if I didn't."

His hand hovers over the trigger, and if he aims it _just right_ , he could make his last shot count and then it'll all be over-

But then a heavy hand comes down onto his shoulder and his head is left blank. The familiar weight and feel to the hand clenching his bruised shoulder, was the only thing that stopped him from turning around and shooting on sight.

"Get to Black."

He takes a breath, looks at the man who's leaning more on him than standing up, and almost, _almost_ smiles when he recognises the look in his eyes.

(It was a look of promise. One that guaranteed victory, triumph and glory. This, _this_ was the man he chose to follow. _The man with a plan._ )

And he knows what he has to do.

Lance McClain. The Tailor. The Class-clown. The I'd-rather-charm-my-way-out-of-a-problem Paladin; turns around and _runs_.

* * *

He makes it. But not before he sees the way Shiro drops to his knees with a gaping hole in his chest.

Black chooses then to close her mouth and save Lance the sight of her paladin being decapitated.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Christ. A review already.**

 **Thank you so much! (The lack of shance on here is both heartbreaking and disappointing! I should be updating regularly btw as I've got most of this shit planned out!)**

 **So! These first few chaps are gonna be pretty short. They're really just scene setters tbh... but after them(there's only like 2... or 3 more?) the chaps get _waaaaay_ longer.**

 **Also, I'm not in any way Cuban, Mexican, Latino nor do I speak Spanish; so I have no idea if any of the Spanish words I use translate into what I properly want them to be. Therefor, I apologise for any cringe-worthy content.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

There is a never ending river flowing down his cheeks that he has no reason to stop.

It hurts. _God_ , does it hurt. It aches and pulses, and it's too many raw, fresh emotions that he just _can't stop crying._

He hears a soothing rumble in the back of his head, he _feels_ Black trying and _trying_ to calm him down. But suddenly he is hyperventilating, and their best just _isn't_ _good enough_.

He sees a myriad of colours blotching behind his eyelids, and then down, down, _down_ the rabbit hole he goes.

* * *

When he wakes, it's to crashing waves and joyful, carefree screaming that he hasn't heard for years. (He _knows_ what Black has done. He knows. And it worked. It fucking _worked_.)

"Stop, _stop_! No más _por favor_!"

Even though he blatantly isn't in any imminent danger, his fingers still twitch at his sides, and he almost flatlines when he _can't feel his bayard._

But then there's a squeal, one that sounds so unlike the cry of help before that he just _doesn't know what to do_ but lay there.

"Can you just stand still for a sec- _MIERDA_!"

The cackle that follows reminds him so much of _her_ , that he just can't function properly because all he remembers are _her_ blue eyes that stare back at him in the mirror, and the smirk on his lips that belonged to _her_ and _\- christ_. He hasn't even opened his eyes yet and already he's having a heart-attack.

" _TU PERRA_! Stop running away!" A distinctly male voice roars.

Lance just continues to lay there, not knowing what to do. Until he hears laughter, and his nerves slowly start to recede. ( _It's ok now,_ he thinks. _There's no fight- no bloodshed anymore._ )

"Oh dios _mio_! Lance! Save your _hermana favorita_!"

"Your his _solo_ _hermana_ , Lea." The calming way that was said pings something at the back of his head that has him keeping a tight hold on his emotions because he can't _believe_ it; he's back- oh _god_ \- he's _back_. (How far back is back? Where _is_ back?)

"Pssh. Semanti-!"

But then there's a sudden echo of a war cry that has him _moving_ and the time to think and feel is over.

His eyes shoot open faster than he could say quiznak, and on reflex alone, he rolls over, does _not_ question why he can feel sand, and dodges the cold water that now dampens the spot where he was.

A shrill shriek greets his ears, and he's cringing in on himself as soon as he hears it.

"Damn it, Vince! That was my towel! _Mía_!" The female speaker yells. (Lance, of course, recognises who it is, but he doesn't want to look and _see_. Not yet.)

"It was hideous anyways."

" _SHUT UP, EMIL_!"

"Vince, why would you do that?"

"What!? Come _on_ , Vic! She fucking tricked me-"

"Language, _chico_!" A new, but startingly familiar sound of a voice scolds, and- ( _just_ when he thinks he can handle this onslaught of longing and melancholy; this- fucking _this_ is chucked in his face.)

" _Ella jodidamente me engañó_!"

-he splutters a laugh into sand he can't remember lying in, and doing that soon has him hacking up the salty grains. (It's a sad excuse of a laugh- but he's _trying_ , ok?)

Lance pushes himself up off the sand and squints up at the sun in a sky he hasn't seen for a while.

It's as his eyes are starting to burn that a water bottle is shoved against his heaving chest, and he clumsily grabs the cool drink before it drops into the sand.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it!" His savior shouts, the alto tone of their voice humming in his ears. " _Mocoso descarado_ ," he hears them mumble under their breath.

Lance feels his heart thundering behind his ribcage when he hears them shuffle to face him.

"Lance?" They quietly call out, and he has to bite his lip to stop the whine that threatens to leave his mouth; because there is only one person in the _world_ that sounds like that.

" _Cariño_?" They call to him again, and this time he doesn't just hear them, but feels them as they run their hands through his hair. (God. He prays, and prays and _prays_ that he isn't dreaming because-)

He swallows. "M-... _mamá_?"

* * *

Lance knew that going back in time was impossible. Well, not impossible, but it just _wasn't done._ But not in any Alternate Reality, did he think or even humour the thought that he could be with his family again.

"Oi! Quit day dreaming and pass the sour cream, Lance!"

It's with an indignant huff that sounds fake to his ears that he reaches over his plate to where the sauce is and pretends to lob it across the table.

He cackles when she screeches.

" _Dios_!" She gasps, pinning him with a glare as she snatches the small bowl out of his outstretched hand. "You have _got_ to stop _doing_ that!"

"Never," he promises, sending them a teasing smirk. He starts to lower his arm, but not before ruffling the dark brown locks beside him.

"Hey!" The owner of said locks shout, pinching Lances elbow.

"What, _chorro_?" He adresses them with a dopey smile.

"I-I'm not a squirt!" Vince shouts, lashing a leg out and kicking Lance when he laughs. "And stop touching my hair!"

"Vince, you _mocoso_." Emilio hisses, unruly black hair puffing up in such a way that always reminded Lance of a cat. "Don't kick my _primo favorito_!"

Lance chokes on the tortilla wrap he just shoved into his mouth.

 _What the hell?_ He thinks, blinking at the man sitting diagonal to him who was currently engaging his _hermano_ in a verbal spat. _Didn't he hate me or somethin'?_

" **Lance**! **Tell him I'm your favorite**!"

His eyes bug out of his head and he panics. "Y-YOU WANNA FIGHT?" He ends up yelping. (He promptly ignores the way his voice breaks.)

The sound of cutlery screeching to a halt on empty plates echoed throughout the room. He winces and opens his mouth to apologise when-

"What the hell!"

"Why would I want to _fight_ -"

Lance blinks at the twin shouts because- _what_.

"Lance, you dork!"

"Honey, you know I love you. But _not in my house_."

"I bet he can't even throw a punch, anyways, Sofia."

"Yeah, well no one asked you, _Aunt_ _Rosa!"_

"Excuse me? Did you just backtalk me, _hombrecito_?"

"You're excused!"

"... Vince, _no._ "

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY!?"

" _VINCENT MIGUEL MCCLAIN_!"

" _Viiiiince_. Why are you so _stupiiiiiid_."

"You've done it now, bro!"

"It was _not_ nice knowing you, _primo_."

"..."

All he can do is sit and gape like a fish.

* * *

It was night time, and the snores filling his room are a sound he's both missed and, at the same time, _not_.

A hand smacks his face and he blanches when they just mumble under their breath and continue to roll off the bed.

"Did Vince fall off the bed again?"

Lance hummed under his breath at the other twin and shoved their head into his armpit.

"He's such an idio- _Lance_!"

 _Life_ , he thinks, ignoring the mumbling body on the floor and groaning one curled into his side, _is good._

(Until he's awoken by the image of a small, small, _small_ crucified body, and remembers just why and _how_ he's where he is.)

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Translations courtesy of google translate:**

 ** _No más por favor_ \- no more please**

 ** _Mierda_ \- fuck, shit **

**_Tu perra_ \- you bitch**

 ** _Oh dios mio_ \- oh my god**

 ** _Favorita hermana_ \- favourite sister**

 ** _Solo hermana_ \- only sister**

 ** _Mía_ \- mine  
**

 ** _Chico_ \- boy**

 ** _Ella jodidamente me engañó!_ \- she fucking tricked me!**

 ** _Mocoso descarado_ \- cheeky brat**

 ** _Cariño_ \- sweet heart**

 ** _Mamá_ \- mum**

 ** _Chorro_ \- squirt**

 ** _Mocoso_ \- brat**

 ** _Primo favorito_ \- favourite cousin**

 ** _Primo_ \- cousin**

 ** _Hombrecito_ \- little man**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey! How's everyone doing? Lance is Very™ confused and just lost in general so hopefully that explains why my writing is a bit scattered and broken. (You'll see why he's like that in this chap and hopefully I don't confuse you lmao. Stuff should be clearing up next few chaps either way tho.)**

 **Anyways! MAKE WAY FOR MAJOR LANGST AND- shit I don't even like it because not my _baby_ , BUT IT FITS HIM, YA KNOW?**

 **SO! With that in mind, thought I'd warn ya that there's mentions of self-harm and depression, so sorry for any triggers! (Also, the way I described it is how I personally felt when dealing with depression and shit so... yeah should be good, right? Pft.)**

 **In this chap you'll see some major AU stuff. And... I finished high-school like 4yrs ago and so some of this shit I made up, like the dates, and job fairs shit, alright? (This is fictional guys... just keep that in mind.)**

 **Ah, and the chapters should be getting longer very soon!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

The first few days are... disorientating to say the least.

There's confusion, a dash of disbelief, and a slither of dissociation that leaves him stumbling and fumbling to keep up his act. He couldn't remember it being so hard just to look his _mother_ in the _eyes_.

And yet he manages to do it anyways(he pretends to not see the concerned looks she throws him when she thinks he's not looking. Or the small crease between her 'brows when he opens his mouth only to _remember_ , and close it again).

His mother is... _different_ , for lack of a better word. But he wasn't sure if it was a different because he hadn't seen her in _god_ knows how long, or whether she was just not the mother he knew her to be. (She isn't his _Mamá_ , he knows, he knows, he _knows_ -)

"Lance, _dulce hijo mío_ ," she pauses in her chopping to look at him over her shoulders. "Can you pass me the green peppers, por favor?"

And just like that, she pulls him out of the deep waters of his mind.

"Sure, mamá!"

(Maybe if he says it enough she will be?)

* * *

The days begin to merge, and Lance starts to lose sense of himself.

The difference between Monday and Friday are blurring, and depression is a sticky, _sticky_ honey jar he can't help but dip his greedy fingers into.

It's unhealthy, he knows; _god_ does he know. (He hates knowing. He knows too much and yet not _enough_.) But he can't help it.

At this point in time, he'll grab onto anything that gives him some sort of balance- familiarity. And if that happened to be the same thing that caused him to have those ugly, _ugly_ scars in his other life- then damn it all; he'll grasp onto it like it was his lifeline.

( _Hello, darkness, my old friend._ He snickers to himself, tracing over the riveting red droplets dotting his arms.)

...

In the blink of an eye, March had become April, May and June. Then suddenly Lance is sixteen.

He doesn't know when, hardly remembers re-attending high school, but he's graduating with the same abysmal grades as the first time.

* * *

The next time he _opens his eyes_ , they land on a calendar hanging over his small desk. The date reads August 3rd, and he faintly registers that there's a job fair at his old school in a weeks time.

"Lance! _Hermano mayor_!"

He lets out an 'oomph' when the twins jump onto his bed to wake him up.

"Mamá made pancakes!"

A grin twitches at his lips and he rolls over to flatten them with his body, cackling when they squeal at him to get off.

(His eyes close once again.)

* * *

"Oh, Lance! Look! It's that school for Marine biology you were interested in!"

He shakes his head at her when she lightly tugs at his arm to grab his wandering attention.

"No, no, mamá," he gently denies, pointing instead to the table with two stern men. "I want to go to the Garrison!"

(It should've pinged something in his head; the fact that the Garrisons top cadet was not there with the other two men like he was the _other_ time.)

"Qué?"

The way she sounded so confused had Lance thinking that maybe in this life he had no interest in space.

"Cariño? Are you sure?" She then asks, and that idea of him not liking space is chucked out the window when she worries her lip between her teeth. "Don't you remember your _papá_ -"

He ignores the sharp intake of breath, and blinks back tears because _his papá is not here in this universe either_ -

"I know, mom," he softly interjects, trying a serious angle with her to both keep her calm and tell her just how important this is to him. (-and _Shiro_ , and Hunk and _Pidge_ an-) "But I still want to go."

She stops in her steps to look at him with an emotion he can only describe as pained acceptance. "If you're sure, querido hijo."

And despite the heavy tug of his adams apple as he gulped, he still managed to reply;

" _Sí_. I am."

(He had never been so sure of something in his entire life.)

...

It's with a smile and a light wave to his _Mamá_ that they temporarily part ways. She had seen an old friend, which he knew was an excuse so she didn't have to go to the table with the two men in uniform.

Ever so slowly, his feet lead him in their direction on autopilot, but a nagging pull at the pit of his stomach has him turning on the spot, and suddenly he was at the back entrance of his old school.

He huffs out a breath of air and pulls down his blue beanie so it fit more snuggly- damn is it chilly for August- and then nearly jumps out of his skin when the door bangs shut behind him.

Lance shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and his feet scuff along the ground as he lets the feeling in his stomach lead him to wherever it wanted him to go. (The distraction was more than welcome.)

A few minutes of mindless walking around found Lance in the parking lot, and the sound of shuffling shoes, muffled shouts and dull thuds didn't escape his ears.A few minutes of mindless walking found Lance in the parking lot, and the sound of shuffling shoes, muffled shouts and dull thuds didn't escape his ears.

" _Qué diablos estas haciendo_?!" He bellows, eyes fierce and narrowed as they take in the scene around the brick wall of the building. "The fuck are you doing!"

The three- no _four_ , bodies freeze in their fighting, and turn to look at the newcomer.

"Go away! It's none of your business, you spanish retard!" One of them shouts, wrangling the collar of a much smaller boy in his grip and shoving him harder against the wall.

"Yeah!" The other two agree.

Lance just sighs, and brings his hand away from where his bayard _should've_ been.

"Wow. I'm so offended," he snorts, rolling his eyes at the supposed insult as he relaxes his tense form. "How about you fuck off before I make you?" And really, all he has to do is crack a smirk and broaden his shoulders before they _scatter_.

(He was _just_ hitting 5'7". It would be rather embarassing if kids not even reaching 5ft weren't afraid of him. (He does _not_ think about the muscles he lacks- _or_ about the huge ones that Shiro had because good _lord_ that was a thought for another time, probably during a cold, _cold_ showe-))

".. ow."

He stumbles out of his thoughts with a strangled grunt, and his eyes flicker to the body dumped on the ground. They go soft when he sees just how small they were and- how could kids be so _mean_?

A split lip and rapidly bruising cheek is _not_ a look that should be worn on such a young face. (But Pidge had worse, and he was _just_ as helpless back then- he was always too late.)

"I-... I didn't need your help!" Is the first thing to leave their lips, and Lance is abruptly brought back to reality. (Yeah; kids are mean. Which _also_ means that this one could be a complete and utter _shit_ -)

Lance blanches and folds his arms. "Because you were handling it so well by yourself, right?" He aims a raised eyebrow at them, and unimpressedly taps his foot on the ground.

"They kept on calling me a _furry_ , and," the kid pauses to purse his lips. "And I don't even know what that _means_!" He stomps, glaring down at the ground as he clenches his fists.

Lance blinks at the, frankly adorable, display. "They _what_?" He splutters upon actually registering what this kid had said. "Why would they call you a-"

(Cue a record scratch and shattering glass.)

 _3 signs_ , he thinks, running a very, very tired hand down his face. _There_ _were 3 signs right in front of me._

Even if the kid in front of him hadn't grown his signature mullet; even if his eyes hadn't quite narrowed enough into the glare he constantly seemed to wear- the 'always-down-to-fight' vibe they exuded, small stature with thick hair as black as night, and just as dark _leggings_ should've clued Lance in on just who he had stumbled upon.

(But _no_. It was only when his eyes latched onto the distinctly purple and fluffy ears this kid seemed to have that Lance finally seemed to get the memo.)

The kid peers up at him through his growing bangs, and unclenches his hands to hold them over his ears.

"Stop staring!" He accuses, shrinking in on himself.

Lance sighs, and decides that he is too old for this shit and damn it why couldn't Shiro deal with all this _fuckery_ -

"Hey," his mouth completely betrays him. And before he can even accuse his lips of being unloyal subjects, they go and defy him _again_. "How old are you?"

There's silence for a bout 3 seconds, and then the boy murmurs something so quietly Lance can't even make out what he was _trying_ to say.

"What was that?"

"I _said_ I'm 11!"

"Oh." He says, and then, because he's Lance McSmartass, follows up with a; "Why are you so small?"

"I'm not small! You're just- _just too tall_!"

"-said every short person, ever." Lance tacks on, just because. "Don't worry, _muchacho_ ," he chirps, reaching up and taking off his hat before he could stop himself. "I won't hold it against you!"

The kid mumbles something under his breath, and Lance quirks an eyebrow up at him. "What'd you say?"

"My name," he shyly says, swatting at Lance' hand that seemed to hover over his head. "It's Keith." His eyes find the ground again, and he shuffles on his feet as he fingers the soft hat covering his ears.

 _I know_ , Lance wants to say, _your surname is Kogane, your mom's an alien, and you like knives to the point of it being a fetish-_

"Cool," he instead finds himself saying. "The name's Lance."

(His eyes stay open for the rest of the week and then-some.)

* * *

 **A/N: Again, I don't know any actual Spanish. So, apologies if you cringed at any point.**

 **Translations, courstesy of google translate:**

 **Dulce hijo mío - sweet child of mine**

 **Hermano mayor - older brother**

 **Qué - what**

 **Querido hijo - dear son**

 **Papá - dad**

 **Sí - yes**

 **Qué diablos estas haciendo - what the fuck are you doing**

 **Muchacho - boy, youngster, etc**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Yo! How's everyone doing today? (LOL who am i even talking to?)**

 **Lmao anyways. At this point in time I'm pretty sure I'm making you ask more questions than answering any, pft.**

 **Also, no; just humans on Earth. Ah and Keith is probably OOC but then he _is_ currently 11. Oh. Keith's dad makes a brief appearance- I also made up what 'happened' to him... so yeah.**

 **Right. Quick warning. This chap is especially Keith-centric! I may do other chapters with different POV's but I'm not a fan of that, coz this is _supposed_ to be a Lance-centric fic...**

 **Ah and sorry if anyone gets offended with the negative connotations attached to 'furry' and my excessive use of it- kids are little shits, aliens aren't on earth, and so of course they're gonna tease the shit out of anyone who looks different. (The 'trio' are supposed to be like 13 tho it isn't mentioned.)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

It was a chilly Thursday morning, and Keith had woken up before his dad came into his room to do so.

(The banging of pots and pans confirmed the man was in the kitchen and already starting on breakfast.)

He yawned as he grabbed the step stored beside the bathroom sink, and rubbed crusty eyes so he could see to put his toothpaste on his brush.

Keith's tongue poked out the side of his mouth as he squeezed a pea sized amount of the minty goodness onto his brush, and grinned when he got the right amount atop the bristles.

(He did not wail when it got washed off and disappeared down the drain when he went to wet the brush.)

It was as he concentratedly tried not to squirt toothpaste everywhere in his second attempt at brushing his teeth, when his eyes trailed to the mirror in front of him, and promptly squealed at his reflection.

" _DAD_!" He shouted, ignoring the way his toothbrush clattered in the sink, or the paste splattered on the floor.

"Dad! I- I have _ears_!" His feet clamber off the step and loudly smack on the floor as he runs towards where he knows his dad is.

" _Woah_! Slow down, buddy!" The man laughs, grabbing his shoulders as he runs around the corner and nearly bodyslams into him. "And of course you have ears, Keith, everyone does- _annd_ what the hell are those?"

"My ears, dad!" Keith chirps, all starry-eyed and excited. "Look at them!"

His dad manages a nervous grin. "That's... great," he says, letting Keith guide his hands to the twitching... things. "Where did you get them from, buddy?"

"Nowhere!" The boy replies, "I just woke up, and _bam_!" He claps his hands to emphasise his point. "There they were!"

"Oh." The older man blinks, and a sense of dread hits his stomach when he realises that those twitching purple _things_ are, in fact, real. " _Oh_."

"Dad?"

He shakes himself out of his reverie and sends a small smile towards his son.

"It's nothing, Keith."

(It's _everything_.)

...

"Keith, you think you could put your hood up for me, bud?"

He purses his lips up at the request, but nods when he sees the serious look on his dads face.

"Ok!"

* * *

"Hey- _look_! It's Keith!"

His shoulders tense when he recognises the voice, and he tries to walk past the trio and continue to walk through the carpark as if he didn't see them.

(Keith knows his dad is going to be worried if he's not back right this second, so it wouldn't do any good to get involved with the trio he, _unfortunately_ , knows a bit too well.)

That is, before he feels a yank at his neck, and a whoosh of air hits the revealed skin.

He feels his heart sink, because his dad said _not to put his hood down_ and they just _pulled it off_. (He's gonna be in _sooo_ much trouble.)

He promptly flinches back when the person who pulled his hood of thought it was a good idea to flick one of his ears. (He just wants to go back to his dad. Is that too much to ask?)

"What are you, a furry?" One of them snorts, "Whatcha wearing them for?"

Keith frowns in confusion. _Furry?_ The word is lost on him. _What does that mean?_

"Haha! Good one, Gabe!"

"Furry! Keith's a furry!"

It didn't matter what it meant, he decides; because he knew an insult when he heard one. So he steels his nerves and clenches his hands to appear more threatening so they would, hopefully, let him go. (They never do.)

"S-Shut up..." he stutters, eyes wide with an inkling of fear as he stared at them from over his shoulder.

"T-They moved! Peter, did you see that?!"

"Oi, lame Kogane! Do that again!"

He winces at their shouts, and tries to tug himself free from the grip holding him in place.

"Holy shit-!"

"He really _is_ a furry!"

"Oh my god! Wait 'til Ryan hears about this!"

" _SHUT UP_!" He screeches, hands cupping his ears as his eyes burned with fire. "Shut up, shut up, shut _up_ -"

"Yeah? Or what?" They snort, yanking on the hood still in their grasp. "You gonna flutter your ears at us, _furry_?"

For a brief moment, all Keith sees is red. (But that was all he needed.)

He swings at the person closest to him, the one gripping his hoodie, hears them let out a surprised shout, and then- chaos.

.

.

" _The fuck are you doing_!"

...

It's when he's back with his dad, guiltily looking at his sneakers as the man apologises and thanks _Lance_ , that his stomach chooses to churn with an unknown emotion.

He peers up at the teen, manages to catch his warm blue gaze, and finally puts a thought to the feeling.

( _Oh_ , Keith thinks, _he feels like home_.)

* * *

Everything in his head is a mess. Memories, scenes and pictures that just don't _fit_ , continue to whizz around his head, and-

All he remembers is running. Away from the flames and embers licking at the upturned furniture- but why did he stop?

His eyes slowly blink up at the mahogany door looming in front of him, and Keith hopes he has the right address as the paper crinkles between his fingers in one hand, with a blue hat glued to the other.

(Oh. _That's_ why.)

It starts to rain, but Keith doesn't care as he collapses in a heap on the steps.

* * *

Sofia... was not blind. So when Lance started to spiral down into what she knew was a _dark, dark, dark_ place; she saw.

He was her firstborn. She had always kept a close eye on him, like she did with all her children; incessantly looking for any dangers that might come their way.

But with _Lance_ , her baby boy, she ended up seeing things that she knew- god, did she _know_ \- weren't meant to be seen.

Like the way he didn't try his _hardest_ at school when she damn well knew he was smart- smarter than anyone she knew. Or how he always managed to know what to say, and- when did he start watching _her_?

(But he was happy, so she let him be. Until one day he wasn't.)

She wished she could've seen the signs. The gradual change- occasional slip of a smile, or half look in his eyes that showed he wasn't quite with them. But there _were_ none.

It was sudden, it was abrupt, and _god_ was she scared. (Not Lance. Anyone but her sweet, _sweet_ boy.)

And yet, here he stood, eyes alive and bright as he introduced this, this _Keith_ ; and she knew, then and there, that she would make damn well sure he was in Lance's life as much as he could be.

So she smiled, and handed the wide eyed boy a piece of paper with their address on, welcoming him, along with his father, to visit.

(But when she had opened the door on a late Sunday afternoon, she hadn't expected to see the boy she had so desperately been waiting for, asleep on her door step.

"Oh, _Keith_ ," she sighed, putting her bag on the table beside the door and bending down to pick the boy up. "What happened to you?")

* * *

It was as he stood, chest heaving and eyes glued to a sofa he didn't recognise, that Keith found himself _panicking_ because _where was he_ and- shaking hands grabbed at his head to- where was his _hat_?!

"Calm down, muchacho," a soft voice called out. "It came off when you got up." They lightly laughed at him, and he tensed up when he heard them shuffle closer.

"S-Stay back!" He quickly shouts, sending them a glare when he doesn't immediately recognise them, and he digs his hand into his hoodie where he knows his-

"Mamá, why does he have a _knife_?!"

-it feels heavy in his hands as he stares at the newcomer, and he doesn't know what to do when his eyes suddenly tear up.

"L-Lance!" He cries out, dropping the weapon onto the carpeted floor in shock.

"Keith?" The teen whispers, bewilderedly looking at him. "What are you doing here?" He walks closer to him when he notices his shoulders slack, and nods his head at his mamá's worried glance.

"It's ok. _He's_ ok." Lance confirms, swiftly bending down to snatch the knife up off the floor, not hiding his gaping mouth at the blade he _remembers_ , and lays it on the small table beside the sofa.

"I-" Keith starts, and then chokes when a fresh set of tears leave his red and swollen eyes. "T-There was so much orange, Lance, and it was so _hot_ -"

Lance blinks. "Hot?" He frowns, suddenly in front of Keith as the words ring alarm bells in his head, and he's crouching down to be eye-level with him. "Keith, _what was hot_?"

He looks up at the taller man through blurry vision and rubbed at his eyes. "The _fire!_ "

Baffled, Lance looks up at his mother to see if she can offer any sort of explanation, but feels his heart stop in his chest when she just looks at him, equally shocked and speechless.

A hiccup echoes throughout the quiet room, and Lance clenches his hand at the sound because he doesn't know what else to _do_ with them. He wants to comfort Keith, but it's _Keith_ , and he doesn't know how the boy would react to the contact-

But that thought is soon thrown out the window when he looks at the future-red paladin who is crying his _beautiful_ amethyst eyes out, and he promptly _fucks it all_ and proceeds to pull the boy to his chest.

(Lance stares up at the ceiling with narrowed eyes fiercer than a raging sea as the body laying beside him lets out a small whimper.

 _What fucking fire_?)

* * *

 **A/N:** **Woo-hoo! No translations coz I haven't used any new words/phrases! (Is it just me or did that rhyme?)**

 **Do drop a review on your way out!**


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